


pussy_is_god.mp3

by wishforwishes



Category: Harry Styles (Musician), King Princess (Musician) RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/F, Femdom, Feminine Harry, Foursome, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Lesbian Sex, Multi, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sexual Experimentation, Sub Harry, Swingers, as the title might imply this whole fic is pretty much about eating pussy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/pseuds/wishforwishes
Summary: “A little birdie told me that some fun times with those two typically happen after your show.” Lizzo jerks her head over to where Quinn and Mikaela are now straight up getting to second base beside them. They’ve both still got a grip on Harry’s painted toes."Would you be interested in letting me join in?”Harry closes his eyes, and she hopes it’s not just pleasure from the foot-caressing he’s getting, but from her question, too. Just to avoid being one-upped, she starts carding her fingers through his hair. He blinks his eyes back open, like he’s savoring the moment and figuring out how to answer all in one.“I really, really want you to.”Harry says it like there’s a caveat he’s bitten his tongue on. Lizzo could place a bet right now on what that is and get rich as hell.“If you’re worried I’m looking for some basic missionary while a lesbian couple are fucking next to us, don’t be. I wanna go all in. All queer, no labels, sapphic orgy time.”As soon as she says that, said lesbians stop sucking mouths long enough for Quinn to say, only sounding a little out of breath, “We have a scientific experiment to conduct.”“Wait, what?” Mikaela says.
Relationships: Harry Styles/King Princess, Harry Styles/Lizzo, Harry Styles/Quinn Wilson, King Princess/Quinn Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	pussy_is_god.mp3

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone confused by some of the pairing tags/summary:
> 
> Mikaela = King Princess, and Quinn Wilson is her partner and Lizzo's creative director. KP and Harry are the genderqueer and genderfluid characters, respectively. Harry solely uses he/him pronouns in this but his identity shifts throughout the fic. 
> 
> With that out of the way, please enjoy!
> 
> (obligatory disclaimer: this is fiction and not meant to imply anything about the actual personal lives of any people featured.)

Lizzo isn’t interested in competing with other women. She’s into uplifting and celebrating each other, and all that intersectional feminist good shit. She especially isn’t here for competing over _men_ — that’s a criminal waste of time and life. 

But now that she’s tight with some people who aren’t men or women, she’s bending those rules a bit. All in the name of some healthy debating, of course. 

It’s Quinn that gets her in on the game, so to speak. The two of them are always gossipping buddies during tour, and they’ve been even more chaotic and loose than usual — probably a product of how they lost a whole year of tour antics to the Virus That Shall Not Be Named. 

(Seriously, Lizzo has a policy for her whole crew; nobody’s allowed to talk about 2020. As far she’s concerned, they just skipped that year and 2021 is the real first year of this decade.) 

Anyway, she and Quinn are relaxing and icing their feet after a show, all bundled up in her hotel room being cute, and Quinn mentions she’s gonna have to leave for a few weeks of Lizzo’s tour dates. 

“Mikaela’s finally getting the chance to open for Harry, and they’re touring Europe together right now. I want to be there to support her. It’s her first real experience with arenas.”

Her voice goes soft when she says it, and Lizzo grins. She loves her lesbian friends. They just _get_ romance, in ways she has to search far and wide to find a man able to understand. 

“I suppose I can live without my favorite creative director for a bit. Especially if I know she’s off in Europe doing her duty and eating out her girl who’s been drying up without her.” 

She tosses off a salute to Quinn, who gets a devious glint in her eye. Ooh, Lizzo knows that glint. It’s gossip buddies time. 

“Actually, she’s being taken good care of right now. She keeps texting me how great Harry is with his tongue and how I’m gonna have to give her the _works_ once I get across the Atlantic.”

Okay, full honesty. Lizzo’s first thought is to be glad that whole watermelon video wasn’t for show and her boy Harry really does like giving head. There are too many DJ Khaleds in the world and she’s glad to have confirmation he isn’t one of them. 

Then, she realizes the juicy information Quinn has just given her is that _Harry Styles_ and _King Princess_ are hooking up together on tour. 

“Hang on, hang on. I know you and Mikaela have some poly stuff going on and I’m down with that. But what’s your lesbian girlfriend doing letting a man eat her out?” 

Quinn snorts. 

“They’re both genderfluid. When they’re fucking, who can say if they’re lesbians, a straight couple, or a couple of gay dudes?” 

Then she gets a funny look on her face. 

“Listen, maybe keep that bit under wraps. Harry’s not super open about it.” 

“Please, you know I will. What happens in gossip buddy sessions stays in gossip buddy sessions.” 

But damn, is that some interesting information to have. She’s been hot for Harry since they first performed together. Does that make her kind of gay, now that she knows he’s only kind of a guy? 

She must get a look on her face puzzling through it, because Quinn gets another glint in her eye — an icy one this time. 

“You’re not, like, weirded out about that, are you?”

“No! Jesus, no,” Lizzo says hurriedly. “Just thinking about how fake gender is.” 

But also…

“It’s just, gender being a construct and all, which I totally acknowledge and you know I’m the biggest ally there is —” Lizzo pauses and waits for Quinn to nod, mollified, “— it’s just that, if Harry and KP are all about gender being fake, then how straight am I, really, if I’m into his genderfluid ass? Hell, how lesbian are _you_ , if you’re into her genderfluid ass?” 

Luckily this makes Quinn laugh. Lizzo’s glad; she’s been known to accidentally put her foot in it before.

“I didn’t mean to give you a crisis. Don’t worry, there’s definitely nothing straight about how I feel about Mikaela. So I’m sure the other way around is true for you too, with Harry.” 

“Well, it’s not like I was worried. This isn’t a gay panic situation. I’m just saying that I guess technically there isn’t a difference, right? Getting your pussy eaten by a guy or a girl or a genderfluid?” 

“Maybe add ‘person’ to the end of that one, honey.” Quinn says it gently but Lizzo still winces.

“Sorry, sorry. Genderfluid person, of course. But you know what I’m saying?”

“Not really, no. Like, no offense, but even though I’ve never been eaten out by a man, I’m still certain they do _not_ know their way around downstairs the way a dyke does. We invented pussy eating.” 

This is so similar to what Lizzo was thinking earlier that she snorts. Romance _and_ cunnilingus: both apparently the realm of the lesbians. 

“Trust me, I agree with you. I’ve never been with a girl but there are so many uninspiring brothers out there. Ones that don’t give head and ones that do but don’t know the first things about it. I’ve had to refine my standards to only the ones that are all-in enthusiastic about getting nose deep.” 

“Maybe we could compare notes sometimes.” That’s Quinn’s last coy remark on the topic before they switch to business mode about how the tour is going to go without her for a few weeks. 

It sticks in Lizzo’s mind — the whole conversation does, obviously, but especially that last suggestion. If it can be called that. She’s not sure how serious Quinn was or what ‘comparing notes’ would entail. 

But needless to say her mind is firmly in the gutter when, once Quinn is in Europe, Lizzo gets the chance to fly out on a long weekend for one of Harry’s shows and visit her. She leaps at the opportunity under the pretext of checking in on some of her main bitches — Harry included — but deep down, she’s thinking some _thoughts_. And it ends up being way easier than she could have imagined to turn those thoughts into action.

Harry is as charming as always when he greets her backstage before the show. He’s wearing some sparkly sheer number that’s so flowy she can’t tell if it’s a dress or a jumpsuit, which is probably intentional. His skin is gonna be stained with glitter by the end of the concert. Lizzo can feel her stomach jump a little, thinking about how pretty he’ll look. 

She’s always liked pretty boys, so it shouldn’t be hard to make the leap to liking whatever Harry is — but it still doesn’t connect in her brain until her girls come join them, Quinn squealing and giving her a hug and Mikaela fronting on Harry and teasing him about how she’s gonna show him up tonight like always. 

“I’m even more of a guitar god now since we last met,” Mikaela tells her, casual like she’s not up in Harry’s personal space and — oh, now she’s pulling on his hair and he’s leaning into her like a cat. All three of them act like nothing special is happening, so she guesses that whole arrangement is still going on even now that Quinn’s joined Mikaela on tour. 

She doesn’t say anything about it until hours later, in one of the guest lounges with LED screens so they can all watch Harry running around on stage. Mikaela’s curled up in Quinn’s lap, resting after having definitively proved her ‘guitar god’ claim earlier. 

“So, do you guys ever compete?” It just bursts out: part question, part continuation of that hotel room conversation.

Mikaela and Quinn both turn to look at her.

“Q, my baby. Do you and Harry argue about who’s better at getting your girl off?”

Mikaela bursts out laughing. 

“Why would they waste their mouths debating that when they could both be eating me out at the same time?” 

Well. That’s an image. Lizzo crosses her legs. Then Quinn raises a cool eyebrow and gently covers Mikaela’s mouth with her hand, like a disapproving mother, and Lizzo’s own hands shoot to her lap, balling into fists so she doesn’t put her hand down her pants in a public place. Jesus, it’s like she got struck by lightning. 

“The three of you are wild. You should save some of that sexual energy for just behind closed doors. Not that I’m judging.”

“You’re the one who asked, Melissa,” Quinn says, drawing out Lizzo’s full name with that same playful sternness. 

Quinn has never actually told Lizzo whether she’s a top or a bottom, but that seems like an unnecessary thing to ask now, after this display. 

“Well, clearly I’m a curious being. Maybe we can talk about it more, later.” 

The implied ‘with Harry _’_ hopefully gets across to them. Thankfully, after the show, when Harry is just as sweaty and glittery as Lizzo expected, Quinn smoothly ushers the four of them into a separate car from the rest of Harry’s people and the KP crew. 

As they leave, Mikaela gets off a jaunty wave toward one of the girls in Harry’s band (a hot blonde with a mullet that Lizzo just knows she would hella vibe with). Mullet girl waves back, and then sticks her tongue out suggestively. Okay, so everyone is on the down low, apparently. 

Harry’s probably screwing his whole band. Lizzo is so glad she paid attention to his ‘Juice’ cover a couple years ago. Imagine missing out on all this. She doesn’t even want to think about it.

In the car, Harry sprawls out, his head ending up in her lap. Mikaela and Quinn are already canoodling on the other side of the seat, playing with his feet and caught up in some private conversation. Probably discussing how tonight is gonna go. Lizzo should do the same.

She looks down at Harry. He can afford the most waterproof makeup in the world, but he’s exerted himself on stage so much that his eyeliner is still running a little, and he’s got lines cutting through the foundation on his cheeks. 

“Well, hey there, baby boy,” she says, and he grins cheekily up at her, but there’s something distant in it. Maybe when he’s all made up like this, he wants to be called something different. But she’s not supposed to know about that, so she ploughs on. 

“A little birdie told me that some fun times with those two typically happen after your show.” She jerks her head over to where Quinn and Mikaela are now straight up getting to second base beside them. They’ve both still got a grip on Harry’s painted toes. 

“Am I about to become an awkward fourth wheel on this tricycle? Or would you be interested in letting me come up to your room tonight?” Harry closes his eyes, and she hopes it’s not just pleasure from the foot-caressing he’s getting, but from her question, too. Just to avoid being one-upped, she starts carding her fingers through his hair. 

He blinks his eyes back open, like he’s savoring the moment and figuring out how to answer all in one.

“I really, really want you to.” 

Harry says it like there’s a caveat he’s bitten his tongue on. Lizzo could place a bet right now on what that is and get rich as hell.

“If you’re worried I’m looking for some basic missionary while a lesbian couple are fucking next to us, don’t be. I wanna go all in. All queer, no labels, sapphic orgy time.” 

As soon as she says that, said lesbians stop sucking mouths long enough for Quinn to say, only sounding a little out of breath, “We have a scientific experiment to conduct.”

“Wait, what?” Mikaela says. 

The hypothesis, laid out once they’re all back in Harry’s hotel room and wearing fluffy robes (and nothing else), is that lesbians are better than men at eating pussy. But neither Lizzo nor Quinn can prove that, because they haven’t been with both men and women. 

“I think I see where this is going,” Harry says, voice clipped, in the middle of Lizzo’s explanation, which puts her on alert to how uncomfortable she must have made him. She’s got a sixth sense for the kind of white people who will interrupt a black woman when she’s speaking and she’s _never_ gotten that vibe from him. She can see the chagrin in his face already. 

“No, I don’t think you do,” is as far as she gets in her rebuttal before realizing she can’t actually explain herself without breaking the first rule of gossip buddies. She looks to Quinn for help. 

She just shrugs vaguely from her spot on Harry’s giant bed and keeps dipping strawberries into the chocolate fondue they got from room service. Mikaela comes to Lizzo’s rescue instead. 

“So, H. Obviously Liz knows we’ve been hooking up. Considering what a giant dyke I am, she is smart enough to intuit some other things from that too.” 

Lizzo nods, glad they’re playing it this way. Harry looks at her, his expression now hopeful in a way that just about breaks her heart. 

“We thought you could put your money where your watermelon sugar mouth is, baby, and eat all of us out.” 

“I can definitely do that —” Harry starts, gaze already going heated just from her words. Lizzo copies Quinn’s move and pastes her hand over his mouth. His eyes darken even further at that.

“But you gotta do it in different ways. You’ve got that fluidity going on like Mikaela, right? So you’re gonna eat my pussy the way you eat hers. I wanna know what it feels like to have a lesbian going down on me.” 

Harry looks like he’s about to drop to his knees right there, but Quinn cuts in.

“And if you feel comfortable, I want you to eat me out the same way you do when you’re with straight women and being a 'man' for them. That way Lizzo and I both have all the data to conclusively say who’s better at it.”

Of course, they all already agree that straight men generally aren’t better at anything than lesbians, let alone pussy-eating. But it’s the fun excuse they need to do this, and for Harry to show off his full self to Lizzo for the first time. She can only hope it won’t be the last. 

“What about me,” Mikaela pouts through a mouthful of strawberry. Quinn grabs her hair and tilts her head back none too gently. 

“You get to watch us, and not touch yourself, and then maybe you’ll get to go last, if you’ve been a good girl and I think you deserve Harry’s tongue.” 

Harry and Lizzo look at each other, both silently experiencing the realization that they aren’t the kinkiest person in the room for once. She’s not gonna say Quinn could outdom her (hell, no) but at least for tonight, she’s gonna let her creative director do what she does best and creatively direct them all.

And boy, did Lizzo hire Quinn with good reason.

She gets Harry naked and spread out in the middle of the bed in no time. The rest of them keep their robes on. Lizzo’s sitting up against the headboard and crowding up behind him, Quinn’s on top of him and holding him down, and Mikaela has been instructed to stay at the edge of the bed and slap Harry’s dick if it looks like he’s getting too close to coming. 

That first slap might happen before he even gets his mouth on one of them; he’s so hard the pretty head of his dick is almost purple where it peeks out of his foreskin. Lizzo’s never been up close and personal with an uncircumcised man (and considering Harry’s whole situation, she technically still hasn’t been) but she likes the look. 

She doesn’t get to admire it too long before Quinn is waving a closed fist in her face.

“Rock paper scissors for who goes first?” 

Lizzo gives her the most unimpressed look she can conjure. Quinn shrugs and shuffles forward on her knees a little bit, until she’s hovering over Harry’s face. She grabs for his hands and sets them on her spread thighs, underneath her robe. 

“Dig your nails in if you need to stop,” she orders, and then sinks down on his face. 

Mikaela immediately starts squirming in place, and Lizzo sends a quelling look her way. Quinn’s occupied at the moment, so she’ll play de facto dom if need be. Mikaela bites her lip but nods and settles back down. 

She also sits on her hands, which means she’s probably forgotten her dick-slapping duty, but Lizzo will go easy on her. Clearly she’s doing her best to follow Quinn’s orders and not touch herself. 

Now Lizzo can focus her attention on the truly beautiful sight before her — Quinn’s natural hair bouncing as she rides Harry’s face, and Harry moaning and licking at her, to all appearances with the unbridled enthusiasm Lizzo has associated with all ex-boyfriends that actually brought head game. 

Every time Quinn shifts on him in just the right way, her robe shifts too, and Lizzo can see a flash of her tightly corded thighs, Harry’s pink nails a pop of color against them where his hands are still resting, unresisting. 

It’s a damn gorgeous sight, and Lizzo can feel herself getting wetter the longer she watches them. She thinks — no, she knows — it’s not just because of Harry and the guy-half of him that’s activated right now. It’s Quinn, too: maybe even more Quinn than Harry. 

Lizzo’s always admired other women’s beauty, and she has too many queer family and friends to say she’s never questioned her sexuality. All that said, she’s always avoided identifying as LGBT — she didn’t feel like that was a community she could claim, when she’s never found herself super into a girl the way that she’s attracted to men. 

But being part of some sexy lesbian power play, her and Quinn bossing around these two fluid beings and having fun messing with Harry’s identity? She’s very into all of that. 

She sneaks a hand into her own robe, pressing against her aching clit. She doesn’t try to finger herself — just gives herself some solid pressure, feeling how soaking wet the tight curls of her bush are. She stopped shaving down there during the 2020 false start, and decided to never go back. 

This was another great way to weed out the boys from the men. She bets lesbians never have to deal with their partners turning their noses up at body hair. Then she realizes anew she’s about to find that out firsthand and her pussy clenches around nothing in pure anticipation. 

Quinn is clearly experiencing some revelations of her own.

“Fuck, oh my god,” she spits out, her whole body rolling. Lizzo can see her abs contracting like crazy. “Yes, there. Keep going. You have to keep —” she breaks off into a high-pitched squeak as she comes, and Lizzo watches in awe as fluid gushes over what she can see of Harry’s face. 

“Oh my god,” Mikaela says, tipping forward as much as she can while still sitting on her hands. “Q, did you squirt? Please, let me see. I’ve been good, I promise —” 

“Has she?” Quinn asks shakily, still coming down from her orgasm. Lizzo realizes she’s asking her for an answer, not even addressing Mikaela directly. Oh, she _likes_ that. 

“Yeah, she’s been a real good girl, hasn’t touched herself once.” 

Lizzo’s magnanimity is repaid immediately, when Quinn lifts herself off a dazed Harry’s face and says, “Okay then, baby, you can eat it up.” 

Mikaela scrambles to the top of the bed in a flash, practically throwing herself onto Harry as she starts licking his face. He opens his mouth and uncurls his tongue, and Mikaela starts licking that too, so they’re both getting a taste of Quinn’s come. 

It’s crazy-weird and crazy-hot at the same time. Lizzo can’t tear her eyes away from them, but Quinn doesn’t seem fazed. She moves out of her girlfriend’s way and rests her head against Lizzo’s shoulder. 

“There’s nothing in the world like watching my sub and her sub kitten-licking each other, huh?” She whispers in Lizzo’s ear. 

Lizzo lets her head fall into the hand not currently on her pussy. How is this her life right now? She’d thank God but that might be blasphemous at the current moment. Then again, He did write the Song of Songs. Maybe He blessed her to have this too. 

“So how’d it compare?” She remembers to ask after a moment, lifting her head back up so she can gauge Quinn’s reaction. Mikaela pauses her lapping up to follow the conversation, but Harry still seems out of it. Probably for the best, if Quinn’s about to say something that would bruise his ego. 

Sure enough — “Middle of the road,” she says firmly. “I’ve gotten worse head, but usually only baby dykes with no experience.”

“Are you kidding? Bitch, you squirted all over his face.” 

Lizzo’s agog, but Quinn just laughs. 

“Well, yeah, because it was damn fucking good. But that’s not because _he_ was good at it. It’s because he’s Harry.” 

“His pussy-eating is on a cosmic level beyond measurement,” Mikaela contributes sagely. 

Well, damn. Lizzo definitely wants to get to the second part of this experiment now. She shoos Mikaela and Quinn to the other side of the bed, and then gets Harry onto his stomach, pulling him between her thighs. She loosens the tie of her robe so that she’s on display for him. 

She gets an annoying flash of self-consciousness for a second — thinking about the way her stretch marks are standing out in sharp relief against her skin, the way her belly hangs down over her crotch, all the old insecurities — and then she remembers Harry’s own worries. 

“So. Mikaela’s being a good girl for Quinn. Are you gonna be a good girl too, baby? For me?” 

Harry blinks up at her, and obviously he doesn’t literally shapeshift or anything. But his demeanor transforms, like his whole being has just been made lighter by a fairy godmother’s spell. His face is still wet with Quinn’s come, and probably Mikaela’s saliva. He licks some of it off her lips like a contented cat.

“How do you want me?” His voice is pleasantly rough, but also an octave higher than Lizzo’s heard it before. 

“I’m looking to have my first girl-on-girl experience, Miss Styles,” Lizzo reminds him. “You gonna provide that? Are you gonna prove to me that lesbians are so much better at giving head, I won’t ever go back to men, and stay begging for pretty girls’ tongues like yours?” 

This is getting close to the corny shit said in porn videos that makes her roll her eyes. But it’s also sickeningly hot, to watch how much Harry responds to it. His face twists up and Lizzo can see him start to hump the bed. 

Mikaela immediately reaches out to fulfil her duty, hauling Harry up onto his knees and laying a healthy smack to the head of his dick. Harry keens and goes fetal, curling himself up in Lizzo’s lap. Lizzo makes a noise of sympathy and squeezes his sweaty shoulder.

“Hush, baby. I know, I know. But if you don’t want your clit getting abused, you gotta focus on me first, remember?” 

It’s a shot in the dark, referring to his dick that way, but when Quinn nods approvingly and Harry settles back into place between her thighs instantly, Lizzo knows her instincts were right. 

A few seconds later, she also knows for sure that the hypothesis they’d all posed was right. 

Harry’s resting his face against Lizzo’s bush, breathing in and out heavily like he’s never smelled anything better in his life. Slowly, he uses his hands to part her lips, and then drags his closed mouth over them, like he’s giving her pussy a kiss. It doesn’t feel like a tease before the main event — it feels like careful reverence. 

Lizzo’s torn between throwing her head back and getting lost in the feeling, and keeping her gaze focused downward to watch Harry work. She settles on the latter; it’s just too pretty, watching his delicate, manicured hands play with her. He circles his fingers around her clit, massaging the hood but not directly touching. 

Then, he starts — Lizzo doesn’t know how she feels about all the cat comparisons that have been happening tonight, but the only way to describe what he’s doing is _lapping_ at her. He drags his tongue through her folds, not trying to get inside her but licking up all the wetness she has to give. 

After a few minutes of this, she should be ready to box his ears for teasing her. But she’s experiencing some kind of oral zen instead, like she’s absorbing Harry’s blissful state. When his tongue finally breaches her and starts fucking her properly, she doesn’t think _‘finally’_ or feel any desperation or relief; it’s like she’s just crested a new wave of that peacefulness.

Cosmic pussy-eating skills, Mikaela said. Lizzo has to commend her for accuracy on that one. This is the last coherent thought she manages to have before Harry starts coaxing an orgasm out of her, and when she comes there’s just as much of a steady build, her pussy clenching in rhythm with her pulse. It lasts five seconds, or maybe five hours. She’ll check the bedside clock when she’s capable of movement again. 

Once feeling has started returning to her extremities, she notices frantic movement out of the corner of her eye; Mikaela trying to thrust forward into Quinn’s hand, which keeps pulling just out of her reach. 

“Please,” she’s saying, her wrecked begging a far cry from the suave King Princess that Lizzo watched performing earlier. She’s blessed that she’s been able to witness both. Harry’s in even more dire straits, squirming around on her like he desperately wants her to touch him but also doesn’t want another cock slap. 

Luckily for all of them, Quinn keeps the scene moving along.

“You’ve been good enough to get Harry’s tongue, baby. Don’t you want that instead of just my hand?” 

“‘There’s nothing _just_ about you,” Mikaela mutters, petulant praise that gets a fond look from Quinn. But then she rallies and leaves Quinn’s embrace to grab Harry — again by the hair, that must be a thing for those two — and pull him down to the end of the bed. Quinn joins Lizzo at the headboard and pats her thigh conspiratorially.

“Time to sit back and enjoy the show,” she says with a wink. 

Lizzo is more than happy to do that. She’s also glad Quinn didn’t immediately ask her for an assessment, because she’s still pulling her thoughts together. Like, Harry definitely just gave her the most intense orgasm of her life. But it almost doesn’t feel right to say it was good head— fucking transcendent might be a better descriptor. It’s like he was praying at the altar of her pussy. 

Lesbians, man. 

Mikaela and Harry are rolling around, giggling while they both try to untie Mikaela’s robe at the same time. Once they finally succeed, she stops Harry from spreading her legs.

“Get me on my stomach, H. Want you to give me a demonstration too.”

“But you already know —”

“I want you to rim me. Wanna feel how _you_ feel when you get eaten out, yeah?” 

If Mikaela ever wanted to apply for the assistant creative director position, Lizzo would give it to her on the spot. Strangely, Harry doesn’t seem to agree. His nod seems — well, not enthused like she would expect, and when Mikaela flips onto her hands and knees and pushes her ass into the air, he just stares at it. 

“Okay, time out,” Quinn says, and everyone turns to look at her. She’s even got her hands held up the same way that she calls ‘cut’ during shoots. 

“Harry, you need to tell us if you don’t want to do something. You know that’s always our one requirement when we do this, right?”

“I know,” he responds, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just — I don’t know how to give her what she wants.”

Mikaela collapses on her stomach, twisting her head back to look at Harry in confusion.

“Sorry if I said it weirdly or something. I want you to like, imitate the way your partners eat you out. You know, copy their style and apply it to eating _my_ ass. Like when we sampled that Santana solo together for the Madrid show last week.”

In Lizzo’s view, that seems like a more confusing explanation than the last one, although she still understands what Mikaela’s getting at. Comprehension doesn’t seem to be Harry’s problem, though. 

“Yeah, I can’t do that.” His voice is getting deeper again, like he’s forgotten to alter it or he’s too uncomfortable to stay in a female headspace. 

“I haven’t — no one’s ever…” He trails off.

Okay. Lizzo is definitely reneging on all those thoughts she had earlier about a benevolent God. 

“No one’s ever eaten you out?” Quinn sounds genuinely shocked. Harry shrugs.

“I’ve only dated a couple guys, and they were grossed out by the idea. And whenever I’m dating women, I feel guilty asking for it?” 

“So you’ve dated mostly boring straight people before me, then,” Mikaela says. “Who don’t recognize a full-course meal when they see it.” 

Harry lets out a little bark laugh, his hands flying to his flushing cheeks. He looks over at Lizzo, maybe apologetically (she’s still technically closer to being straight than anyone else here) or maybe for guidance about where to go from here. Well, she’s more than happy to pick up that gauntlet.

“Time in,” she says firmly, and Quinn eyes her warily but doesn’t interrupt. 

“So. Both of you showed us a damn good time tonight. You deserve to make each other come too. And I think we can all agree that Harry’s pussy deserves some attention, for the sake of justice and liberty and making all things right in this world.” 

She looks directly at Harry when she says it, giving him the chance to contradict her, just in case that isn’t something he wants after all. But he’s nodding frantically. 

“Yes, but I don’t want any of you to feel like you have to.” 

“Baby girl, you’re still acting like we might be grossed out. We’re not. I’d be more than happy to eat your pussy, but I think you deserve someone more experienced for your first time.” 

Lizzo’s instinctive word choices have struck gold again. As soon as she says ‘your pussy’ Harry’s eyes go heavy-lidded and he turns to look at Mikaela hopefully, whose eyes light up in pure glee.

“We should sixty-nine,” she says in excitement, like she’s waited her whole life to say those words. 

Harry laughs again, but it’s in surprised relief this time. Lizzo wants to go back in time and beat up all the people who had the nerve to make this something he was afraid to ask for. Especially the dudes who apparently thought it was _gross_. The fucking nerve.

When Harry gently lays himself over Mikaela and lets her spread him open, Lizzo can’t think of a less accurate adjective. It’s like seeing a Renaissance painting in motion, watching the two of them tangle together, legs akimbo and mouths smushed in awkward places until finally, they fit together just right. 

The second Mikaela gets her mouth on Harry’s hole, the noise he lets out straight up doesn’t sound human. It’s call and response from there; every moan he lets out makes her jerk her hips into his face and moan in turn, sloppily licking at him. 

Lizzo wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t have experience with this kind of thing, but it doesn’t seem like either of them have any kind of finesse. It doesn’t seem like skill matters much under the circumstances, though, because in record time Harry’s letting out a choked sob and coming, his untouched cock painting Mikaela’s chin and collarbones white. 

Quinn doesn’t give him the chance to recover or rally and finish the job; his dick is still twitching when she hauls him off Mikaela and shoves him in Lizzo’s direction. He collapses on her, and she strokes his flank, soothing him like an over-exerted horse. 

She keeps half an eye on Quinn, who licks Mikaela clean of jizz and then practically bends her in half to finish what Harry started. Huh. After everything, it seems like bukkake was the one thing to make her get possessive.

“So Quinn squirted all over your face, and then you squirted all over her girlfriend,” Lizzo says. “There’s a kind of poetry in that, I think.” 

“I guess it’s good that we write rhymes for a living,” Harry says, grinning up at her, looking exhausted but content. “Maybe you could do a verse on a Watermelon Sugar remix about it.” 

“You’d break your no collabs rule for me? I’m honored.” 

“Well, I trust you to do a good job.”

They sit in peaceful silence after that, watching Quinn fingerfuck Mikaela into oblivion. Both of them know that after tonight, those feelings of honor and trust run deeper than a shared joke. It’s a cosmic bond — a divine bond. 

Lizzo can’t wait to start praying.


End file.
